Batgirl: The Assassin's Game
by zealously
Summary: Set in the early days of the second Batgirl's adventures following No Man's Land, Cassandra faces a group of assassins harboring a deadly secret while also coming to terms with her own guilt.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

She loved dinner parties. There was a certain charm about them - the warm glow and scattered happiness of such a gathering that she loved so much. She stood, smiling, in a little dress her father had fixed up for her hours ago. Someone was speaking, but she couldn't catch the words. She never could.

Her dress itched, and she felt uncomfortable in such awkward attire. It was the first time she had ever worn such formalwear - her father didn't have the opportunity to entertain guests often, and she was still a mere girl of eight. Regardless, she was glad to have a sorely needed break from the games she had been playing with her father almost nonstop for as far back as she could remember. They were fun games - she enjoyed them, and she had the feeling her father did too.

The man finished speaking. He sat down, but motioned for the men behind him to remain standing. They carried black, long items that shared an uncanny resemblance with the black objects she had used in some of the games with her father for so long, putting them together and taking them apart for hours on end, her eyes bound.

Her attention quickly shifted away from them when her father tapped her shoulder. She turned to face him, noticing his smiling face. She smiled back, and she could see anticipation and satisfaction in her father's smile. It made her feel proud.

"Remember the game we played last week?" her father asked. She nodded, smiling, remembering with fondness how her father had tried in vain for two hours to win the game. First he had tried a direct route - throwing punches and kicking, all of them missing her almost as if she knew they were coming beforehand. When physical means failed, he had pulled out the weapons - crossbows, guns, anything he could think of, and fired at her relentlessly. Even then she evaded his attempts to subjugate her, and her father had finally conceded defeat, though he didn't seem particularly upset at his loss, a fact that she had noted curiously.

Her father pointed over at the man who had just taken a seat, shaking her out of her recollections. The man was talking and laughing like he had not a care in the world, his carefree attitude a stark contrast to the stoic men in black toting heavy weapons behind him. Her father spoke in a friendly tone, "I need you to go play the game with that man over there."

This wasn't immediately alarming to her. Her father had, on occasion, asked her to play the games with other people. She had had a jolly time and most of the time worked up quite a sweat. Still, this man didn't look like much of a gamer.

She hesitated. "Come on, sweetie. Do it for me." Her father's eyes twinkling eyes coupled with his reassuring grin set her mind at ease.

Determined, she stepped forward to the table the man sat behind. Her father had taught her how to approach people playing the game. She couldn't be too obvious, she had to be subtle, she had to be agile if she wanted to win. As she approached the man, she kept her eyes lowered, trying to present herself as as small a threat as possible. She wanted her opponent to underestimate her.

The man grinned at her. "Cute kid, Cain."

Suddenly, she sprang into motion, leaping onto the table in one fluid motion. She read in the man's face that he was about to move - move backwards, evading her, resisting her early attempt to win the game. She read all of this precious seconds before it really happened, which bought her enough time to thrust out her hand and deliver a crushing stroke to the man's neck.

A spurt of blood exploded from the man's neck, followed by a steady stream of blood that began to pour out of his mouth and nose like a gushing waterfall. She reeled, shocked, her arms soaked in blood. Loud bangs and smoke filled the air as she collapsed to the floor. She stared at her bright red palms, uncomprehending, not understanding, not understanding why the man fell backwards like that, why the man wasn't breathing, why the man didn't get back up and congratulate her on winning the game.

Then she realized, and wished she had never realized at all.

"NOOOOOOO!"

Cassandra jerked upright, her body trembling. Her mouth was open, quivering with the exertions of a silent scream. Her long black hair, usually neat, lay strewn in messy threads across her pillow. She was momentarily disoriented, then remembered herself. She was in her room in the clock tower, a woman of 17, not the little girl she revisited so often in her dreams.

She slowly pulled herself out of bed, her cold sweat mingling with the warm covers. It was still light out, so she didn't need to wake just yet. But she felt restless, haunted by an incurable guilt.

Slipping on a robe, Cassandra stepped into the main atrium of the small apartment at the top of the clock tower where she spent her days. She was a creature of the night, much like her namesake the bat, and she spent her evenings prowling the streets of Gotham, acting as watchful protector of the city. Where Batman lacked, Cassandra fulfilled. And she did a damn good job of it.

Oracle was, as usual, up and typing diligently at the various keyboards she had scattered around her control room, the only area that looked out of place in the dingy, plain apartment. A revolving hidden wall normally hid the control room from sight, but with the clock tower secured, precautions were compromised in favor of convenience. Her light glasses complemented her bright green eyes, and her distinct red hair flowed freely down her back. She sat in a wheelchair, and Cassandra noted, somewhat sadly, that she would always be confined to one. Oracle had never confided in Cassandra exactly how she had received the crippling injury, but Cassandra knew how much it had cost her. It was precisely because of that cost that she now stood, retrieving her Batgirl costume from the closet and beginning the arduous process of putting it on.

Oracle noticed Cassandra's silent presence at last and, disengaging herself from the massive computer systems sprawled out in front of her, turned to greet her. "Not eating today, Cass?"

Cassandra shook her head and motioned towards the holo room, an ingenious development by Oracle that allowed a user to participate in training programs against a multitude of simulated enemies. Oracle understood Cassandra's intent and turned back to her computers. "Just don't break anything."

Finished dressing, Cassandra headed into the training room, flexing her muscles. She was determined to get better, to prove she was worthy of the cowl and insignia. She had done this for so long, she didn't even feel any apprehension at all as she set the training console to the highest level possible and readied herself.

It had barely been ninety minutes before the training console abruptly shut itself off. Cassandra's carefully timed punch hit empty air, and she looked around, confused. Oracle's voice shone through the speakers in the training room.

"Cass, there's something you need to see."

Obliging, Cassandra pulled off her full-face mask and stepped out of the training room back into the control room, gazing with some alarm at Oracle who was seated in front of a large display. She wondered what event could have happened that would be large enough in scale to warrant the interruption of her rigorous training sessions.

Oracle turned the monitor towards Cassandra, gesturing with her hand towards the images on the screen which were coupled with some intelligible words. Cassandra immediately recognized one of the images as Police Commissioner Gordon, longtime head of the Gotham City Police Department and Oracle's father. The other pictures on the screen, shadowy faces of mysterious-looking men, were foreign to her.

Oracle caught a glance of Cassandra's concerned face and was quick to console her, assuring, "My father is fine." Her face darkening, she added, "but not for long." She turned back to the computer and brought up some new files. "The League of Assassins. Have you ever heard of them?"

When Cassandra shook her head, Oracle continued. "Not many do. It's a small organization, one that likes to keep itself hidden. I haven't bothered with them, and they haven't bothered with me. But…Cassandra, I've just received some disturbing intel. The League is going after my father. Tonight." Cassandra shot her a questioning look. "Why would they go after my father? Plenty of reasons. First, he's head of the police department here in Gotham City. Killing him could potentially destabilize the institution enough to cause serious damage. Second, he's been known to have worked with Batman at times as a key ally. Someone seeking to weaken Batman would obviously head for his allies first. But they're assassins, Cass. The only logical reason I can think of for them doing this is money. And I don't know who paid them. All I know is that they need to be stopped, and you're the only one I feel is capable of doing so on such short notice."

Cassandra nodded, as if it was just an assignment like any other. She gazed outside the windows of the clock tower. "Where is he?" Oracle supplied. "Knowing my father, at this time of day he'd be working late at police headquarters, drowning himself in caffeine. But no need to go looking for him. I've found the location of the assassins - their temporary hideout in Gotham, if you may." Her fingers tapped quickly across the keyboard, bringing up a map of Gotham. "I've marked the coordinates. Take them out, Batgirl. But…be careful. They're extremely dangerous, probably the best in the League, as I can't imagine them sending mediocrity to assassinate the head of authority in Gotham. And you…you know how dangerous assassins are firsthand. You have… personal experience." Oracle turned her head away slightly, wondering if she had offended Cassandra with her last statement.

If she was offended, she didn't show it. She simply nodded and pulled her mask back on, equipping her utility belt and patting it down to check for content. Satisfied, she waved a campy good-bye at Oracle, as if they were two good friends at school who were parting temporarily for the summer. The wave was returned a little uneasily and a little late, as Cassandra was already gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Cassandra stepped away from the three unconscious bodies, her body tensed for any new danger. Sensing none, she dropped to one knee and checked herself for potential wounds. She was untouched.

Her brow furrowed. That had been easy. A little too easy. It had taken her roughly twenty minutes to reach the location Oracle had pinpointed as the assassins' hideout, then another ten minutes to infiltrate it. Security had consisted of a single guard, who she had dispatched easily. Once inside the compound, she had spotted the three assassins lounging around one of the walls on the far side, weapons undrawn. She had found this odd - assassins didn't lounge. Nor did they fail to notice a certain lone vigilante creeping up to them from behind and inflicting critical hits to their pressure points. The three assassins were knocked out almost instantly, all without being alerted to her presence.

Following the elimination of the assassins, Cassandra had stripped them of their guns. She then searched the men and the room for any valuable information but found nothing. She was now crouched down, dialing the police to alert them of this location. After receiving an affirmative response, she took out her radio headpiece and fitted it on, eager to tell Oracle of her success.

Manipulating the controls, she electronically transmitted Oracle a status update. Silence. She checked to see that the device was working properly, and repeated her transmission. Still no response.

It wasn't like her equipment to malfunction. Still, caught up in the euphoria of her recent success, she thought little of it, a mistake that would later prove fatal. She decided to return home the long way and share with Oracle in person. Simple words couldn't effectively convey what she wanted to say to her, anyways. She knew her gestures and emotions - Oracle called it an interactive game of charades - added life to their otherwise dull debriefing sessions.

Cassandra picked herself up and began to make her way out of the facility. Now that the area had been cleared, it was safe to leave through the front doors. As she did so, she felt oddly exposed, as if she was being watched. It was a ridiculous notion - her full-bodied black costume blended in perfectly with the night, and she made almost no noise while moving. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that something was out of place. The assassins had been too easy to take down. The infiltration itself had been mind-numbingly effortless. And the most uncanny thing of all was that, of the countless nights she had been working with her radio functioning perfectly, it chose tonight to defect. She was cut off from Oracle in what was probably a very personal case for Oracle herself.

Cassandra stepped outside into the cool black night, shaking her head vigorously as if to clear such suspicions and doubt from her mind. This was ridiculous. She had been trained as an assassin - to move unthinkingly, to depend on reflex and instinct. She had been trained as a detective - to think clearly, to disregard superstition and fallacy. She should leave the whole thing behind, believe that coincidences were maybe just coincidences. But only now did she realize the weakness she still possessed - her body had been shaped to perfection, but her mind was still flawed. She did not have a clear direction, an inner goal. And now her doubts were interfering with the mission at hand.

The shrill scream of a woman cut like fire through the silent, peaceful night, immediately setting Cassandra's senses ablaze. Her past uncertainties in her mind disappeared as she became focused on one thing only - pinpointing the source of the scream, and saving whoever needed to be saved. Just routine work, thought Cassandra as she smoothly grappled up the side of the nearest building and climbed onto the roof. Nothing I can't handle.

Once on the roof, she turned her gaze towards where she had heard the scream. The night was indeed dark, but with her sensitive eyes she could just barely make out subtle shadows in the distance illuminated by the dim glow of streetlights. Still, she couldn't be sure. If she rushed off into the wrong direction recklessly, this victim of yet unknown adversity would lose precious seconds, seconds that could result in her death or, at the very least, crippling injury. And nobody would die tonight. Not under her watch.

The same scream came again, and this time it came definitely from the direction Cassandra was facing. She swiftly made her way to the edge of the building and jumped down, embarking on a sprint worthy of the greatest Olympic runners. She estimated it would take roughly twenty seconds to reach her destination - the source of the scream had not been far from the facility where she had incapacitated the assassins. Another coincidence, but Cassandra pushed it away from her mind. A life was in danger, and she had to save it. Life was so much less complicated when expressed in absolute terms.

Cassandra burst onto the scene with abandon, fully aware of how much time she could not afford to spare. She took in the scene with her eyes, analyzing every detail. A woman, not too old - she had to be in her early thirties - was backed up against the wall of a closed convenience store. A bulky man brandishing a knife took menacing steps towards her, all while waving his knife threateningly.

"I swear, if you so much as make another sound…" His back was facing Cassandra, so he was completely unaware of her presence until the woman's eyes bulged in surprise. He was momentarily startled by this new development, and began to turn to look behind him. He never made it all the way around.

Cassandra had leaped around the man and placed herself squarely in between the woman and her attacker. She directed a vicious kick towards the man's chest, hoping to take away his breath and cut short his impending escape. Her foot was met with metal, much to her surprise and pain. Most of the impact was absorbed by the protective weaving of her shoes, but she still gasped mutely and withdrew her attack, her mind as rattled as her body. What kind of mugger wore body armor? Didn't matter anyways. His head was exposed. She went in for the kill.

Wrapping her arms around the man, Cassandra held him firmly in place, feeling the cold steel of the chest plate pressing against her body. The man struggled briefly, but he soon realized the futility of fighting and instead tried to use his weight to break his captor's grip. Cassandra's strength remained steadfast, and she bashed her head against the man once, almost instantly knocking him out. She released him, and he fell to the pavement with a loud clang. She turned to see the woman, expecting her to be scared, crying, maybe a little grateful. The woman was nowhere in sight.

"Stop! Stay where you are and put your hands in the air!" A forceful voice coupled with the sound of incoming footsteps echoed through the air.

Cassandra turned, and saw none other than Commissioner Gordon himself, complete with a platoon of men. Apparently they had been on patrol and had heard the screams and the subsequent scuffle. She nimbly stepped away from the unconscious body of the man, holding out her hands palm up to show that she meant no harm. Gordon recognized her and, ordering his men to stand down, ran to the side of the man, checking his vitals.

"He's out. What about the victim?"

Cassandra shrugged. Gordon frowned, troubled by the news, although it wasn't terribly uncommon for victims to flee in sheer panic after an apparition dressed head to toe in black had materialized seemingly from thin air and beat the living hell out of their assailant.

"We'll have to report this. Thanks for your help though, Bat - "

He would never finish his sentence as a gunshot exploded, penetrating the tranquility of the night. Gordon slumped forward, Cassandra catching him. Three more gunshots sounded, and Gordon's men went down. Cassandra whipped her head toward the direction of the cacophony, trying to catch any sign of the unknown gunmen, trying to ignore the fact that she carried Oracle's father in her hands, a father she had sworn to protect, trying to block out the images of the unmoving police members around her, their blood already beginning to stain their uniforms, trying to block out the realization that she had been set up, that the "assassins" she had taken out earlier were only fakes, that the real action had been here all along. She glared out at the night, and the night responded with a dreadful silence. But there was always a calm before the storm, she thought, almost prophetically.

One final gunshot rang out, catching Cassandra in the face. She toppled backwards, losing her grip on Gordon as her sight filled with a hazy red. She collapsed on the hard concrete, stunned, her nerves screaming. She had failed Oracle, had failed to stop the assassins, had failed to stay strong where it mattered most. But there was still hope. There was still a chance for redemption. There always was.

Gritting her teeth, Cassandra propped herself up on one elbow, supporting her head with one hand and ripping off her mask with the other. She felt around the wound - the bullet, luckily, hadn't embedded itself in her flesh, but it had ripped mercilessly through her skin in her left cheek. She took her hands away from the wound and, ignoring the throbbing of her face, reached into her utility belt and pulled out a bandage, inadvertently dyeing whatever she touched a maroon hue. A sharp pain flashed through her head, forcing her to close her eyes as tears streamed out. Keeping her hands steady, she wrapped the bandage horizontally around her face, tightly securing the wound. Proper medical treatment could wait back at the clock tower - she had to stop the assassins first, no matter what the cost.

But all would be lost if Gordon was already dead. Cassandra crawled over to Gordon's side and checked him for his bullet wound. She breathed a sigh of a relief as she noticed that he had only been hit in the arm - a superficial wound. Gordon would live. She grabbed his police radio and sent out a distress signal. Noting its functionality, she tried her handset radio again, attempting to contact Oracle.

"Hello? Hello? Batgirl, come in."

A wash of relief rolled over Cassandra as she recognized the businesslike tone of the ever so familiar Oracle. Cassandra almost started to nod before she remembered she was invisible to Oracle. She decided to alert Oracle to her presence by doing the only thing she could think of doing - moving.

"You were off the map for a while there, Cass. What happened?"

I was ambushed because of your misinformation, Cassandra thought bitterly, deciding wisely to keep that to herself. Not that she could have expressed it anyways. She moved swiftly to the sides of the three downed cops, checking their pulses one by one. Her heart fell as if a weight had dropped to her stomach. All dead. So much death tonight, and by her own inanity.

"There's a GCPD distress signal broadcasting from your location - I'll assume something happened? Doesn't matter - we have more urgent matters. Cass, I've been set up - the information fed to me concerning the assassination was flawed."

No shit.

"I looked deeper into my sources and discovered that the hideout location was a red herring - they were planning to attack my father at the location you're currently at. I don't know what happened there, but Cass, no matter whether they succeeded or failed in killing my father, I…I need you to find them." Her voice was choked, a rarity for Oracle. There was silence in the speaker for a few seconds, and Cassandra assumed she was composing herself. "There are two of them. They're escaping down North Lane, directly east from your location."

That was all the information Cassandra needed. She raced away into the direction Oracle had specified, pulling out her night-vision goggles and squinting down the empty street. They couldn't have gone far - she had only been talking with Oracle for only a minute at most, and they would be in no hurry to leave, having seen Cassandra and Gordon go down with their own eyes.

Movement down at the far corner of the street. Cassandra adjusted her goggles, zooming in to confirm their identities. Two men dressed in black, wearing full-face masks, stealthily creeping down the streets. Mirror images of Cassandra in appearance. Keeping her back to the buildings on the left side of the road to conceal herself, she ran sideways, pursuing them, all the while tracking them through her goggles.

All of a sudden, the men disappeared. Cassandra frowned, alarmed by their unnatural ability to simply fade into the night. Refocusing her concentration, she realized that they weren't supernatural ninjas after all - they had only slipped into a side alley. She memorized the location of the alley, removed her goggles, and tore down the street at full speed, stopping only when she reached the alley the men had gone into. She stepped into the alley and, making sure to keep low, made her way inside, her eyes wide.

If the outside had been dark, then the inside of the passageway was beyond dark. She couldn't make out anything at all in front of her, cautiously feeling with her hands to make her way deeper in. She was careful not to move too rashly. Knowing these assassins, they probably had all kinds of tricks up their sleeves. She didn't even dare put on her night vision goggles again for fear that she would be exposed to a sudden radiant attack, completely blinding her and leaving her helpless.

Suddenly, Cassandra found herself face to face with a sight that momentarily stopped her heart and chilled her still racing blood. She stared into the barrels of two guns, only then understanding her fatal mistake. The alleyway was a dead end. High walls crept up from her sides, and her only escape was back the way she came. The assassins, finding out that they were being pursued, had escaped down this alley only to lure her in. But she didn't dare move, lest the two guns pointed in her face opened fire, solidifying her failure at comprehending even the simplest of traps.

A match was struck, illuminating the area. Two faceless men stared down at her, their guns still unwavering. Despicable men, thought Cassandra, men who kill for money, the kind of person I was raised to be, and the kind of life I fled. She evaluated the situation, looking for a way out. There was none - she was too far in to run out now, and if she did, her back in this narrow passageway would be an easy target for the assassins' loaded and cocked weapons. The only other hope of escape was to take on the men in hand to hand combat, but with their visages obscured, Cassandra couldn't read their faces, severely hampering her ability.

But there seemed to be hope yet. Even though their gun hands remained steady, one of the men seemed to hesitate. He took off his mask with his free hand, revealing a worn face detailed with surprisingly bright eyes and curly brown hair. Cassandra had expected to see anger or bloodlust in his eyes, but instead she was startled to see kindness, compassion, and…was that pity?

"Cassandra…Cassandra Cain, isn't it?"

Taken aback, Cassandra nearly panicked, then remembered that her mask was off and that the assassins had simply recognized her in the lighting from the still flaring match. But no one knew her face, no one save a certain individual in Cassandra's memories.

The man with the pitying eyes spoke again, and his voice was like smooth chocolate. "We…we were sent by your father, David Cain. He used to talk a lot about you, you know, back when he was still in our society. He said you were his jewel, the one thing he cherished above all else. He left the League to care for you when you were born. Said he had a responsibility to fulfill, a duty to perform, now that he was a father."

Cassandra's heart thudded, tempted by this alluring depiction of her father. Had he really said all those things about her? Her logical mind knew that she couldn't trust these men, couldn't know if they were lying or telling the truth, couldn't fall victim to their psychological games. But her emotional side, the side yearning for a true paternal icon, for a family, for love, was game to the assassins' manipulations.

The man continued. "We know what your father did to you, the scars he inflicted while only trying to make you the best assassin you could be. Join us, Cassandra. We can help you, and with us your unique skills will truly be developed. We can make you the best fighter in the planet, better than Batman, better than the Man of Steel, better than anyone. Come with us, and fulfill your destiny."

Cassandra rose slowly from her squatting position, gazing at the men as if she was seriously contemplating their offer. She had to applaud the men for their abilities - they had pinpointed every weakness she had, every hubris she possessed, and exploited them masterfully, pushing all the right buttons. Had she been a lesser women, she might have surrendered herself and went with them right this moment. But the assassins hadn't counted on one crucial element - Cassandra's loyalty. Her loyalty to Batman, her loyalty to Oracle, her loyalty to the very people of Gotham. Her commitment to justice, her love of life and hatred of those who sought to diminish it. There was never a question of betraying these values, nor would there ever be.

She shook her head, and the men opened fire.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Reckless, the Batman would later reprimand. You were outnumbered, outgunned, and outmatched. Your survival was the most important thing, and you botched it. You should've gone with them, then escaped when the time was right. It was too dangerous to provoke them, too dangerous to even attempt to fight.

And Cassandra would laugh that awkward, quiet laugh of hers, unable to resist even a little gloating. Oracle would punch her playfully in the shoulder, causing even the stoic Batman to let slip a little smile of amusement. Cassandra would recount again, with colorful hand motions and elaborate facial expressions, the details of her daring escapade.

But that was then, and now was now, and Cassandra was staring death in the face. Yet, even as she prepared to die, she felt at ease. This would be a fitting end. She had taken a life, extinguished the bright flame of life, so many years ago. It was no quirk of fate that she was being called upon to atone for it now. It was almost ironic - she had killed as an assassin, and now she was to be killed by assassins. And so she accepted her fate, accepted that her sacrifice would redeem herself of her past guilts, accepted that she would die.

But she didn't plan on going down without a fight. She was a warrior, after all.

Even before the assassins had begun firing, Cassandra had read in their body language that they would shoot if she refused to give herself up. She guessed this was the reason they didn't verbally offer her any second chances after she had shown she would not surrender. They knew about her body reading ability and would have seen such words as wasteful.

However. this gave her an advantage. Because she knew they would shoot, she could plan out her next actions accordingly. In the seconds before she shook her head in defiance, she analyzed the angle and power of the guns held by the men, estimating where the bullets would land. She had adjusted her body position to compensate, and was by no means stupid or reckless, as the Batman put it, in her challenge.

Still, it was no small feat to avoid being shot by two handguns wielded by proficient gunmen at point blank range. Second thoughts had already crept into Cassandra's head as the assassin with the pitying eyes that suddenly looked so hard cocked the gun, aimed, and fired.

Before the bullet had even left the chamber, Cassandra had shifted to the left, her body gyrating to avoid the bullet's trajectory. Even as the bullet hit thin air, the second assassin opened fire, an action Cassandra had read and anticipated milliseconds ago. She twisted her body again to the right as the second wave of fire rebounded harmlessly against the alley walls.

It was then that the two assassins opened fire simultaneously, each working furiously to empty their barrels into Cassandra's vulnerable torso. Time seemed to slow, and Cassandra realized that she could not possibly defend against this assault the way she was now, still thinking as a 17 year old girl, still thinking as Batgirl, still thinking as a hand to hand combatant. So she closed her eyes, letting all semblance of fear or rational leave her. She ceased to think, allowing her powers of instinct and reflex to take over completely. And it was at this moment of reckless suicidality, of imminent death, that she grasped the truth, and smiled. For no one was better at the game than she was.

She sat on a lumpy mat, eyes shut, her back facing her father who stood several feet away toting a heavy pistol. All was quiet save the heavy breathing of her father and the slow, controlled breathing of her own. Her little frame trembled in anticipation as she prepared herself. There were no clues to aid her, no allies, no nothing - just her wits and instinct alone. That was the way her father liked it. That was the way she liked it. And so that would be the way they played the game.

A loud crack exploded behind her, and she instantly jumped up, barely evading the sting of the bullet. It was so close she could almost feel it brush by her shoulder. She spun around, her eyes suddenly wide open, taking in the situation, the advantages and disadvantages of her position, and her location relative to her opponent. All the while gunshots continued to ring, with her keeping her head as low as possible and her eyes tracking her foe's every movement. She spotted her father standing quite a distance from her, firing his gun casually at his own daughter like he would fire on a target selected for death. It didn't bother her, this ruthlessness. She knew her father was just playing. Just like she was playing.

Lifting up on her toes, she moved quickly down the mat towards her enemy, remembering her lessons even as well-aimed bullet dug into her skin and drew blood. Pain was nothing. Wounds were nothing. Feelings were nothing. All that mattered was the elimination of the target. In such a game, there could be no room for failure. She hadn't failed before, and she wasn't going to fail now.

Of course, survival was also an important thing - second to the offensive against the opponent. She ran crouched down, arms crossed protectively in front of her chest, head tilted to the side. Most bullets whizzed into air that she had occupied a millisecond ago. The other bullets would find their mark, embedding themselves into the meat of her body. But of course, at this point, she couldn't even feel pain. Her attention was focused on one thing and one thing only - her father. Her opponent. The game.

Lunging forward, she kicked the gun out of her father's hand, whacking it with such force that the internal mechanisms almost shattered. She delivered two punches in quick succession to her father's hand, aiming for a quick knockout, but her father blocked both punches and retaliated with an uppercut of her own. But she was just too fast for him - wherever he punched, he always seemed to be punching into empty space. His knuckles ached for an impact with soft flesh, but she was not about to grant her father that pleasure. They sparred like this for a while, the old master and his precocious apprentice. Finally, she discovered an opening and, with one mighty blow, forced her father to the ground. She stood there, dripping with blood, the majority her own. She looked down at the bullet holes and rivers of blood streaming across her body, as if noticing them for the first time. She looked at her father - even with a broken face and crushed bones, he still gazed lovingly at his daughter, evidently taking as much delight in her victory as she did. She looked at the bullet holes sprinkled across the wall behind her, surprised herself at her own capacities. And then she smiled a final smile, and collapsed from her critical wounds.

Oracle said that when they found her lying on the ground in a pool of steadily growing blood, surrounded by the two unconscious assassins, a ghost of a smile still played on her lips.


End file.
